Life Opens Doors
by the ramblin rose
Summary: Cyreese AU. Oneshot. Sometimes knocking on the wrong door can lead to opening all the right ones. Carol/Tyreese Careese


**AN: This scene is from the Tumblr prompt that wanted Carol and Tyreese in a situation of accidentally knocking on the wrong door.**

 **I own nothing from the Walking Dead.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Tyreese wasn't accustomed to surprise guests any day of the week, but it was even more unusual for someone to stop by on a Sunday morning. He worked six days a week during most weeks, sometimes five but that was rare, and Sunday was his day to rest. Everyone in town knew that. He liked to sleep in and he liked some quiet on Sundays.

Yet, here was someone begging entrance to his home on Sunday morning, well before he thought it was a proper time to get up, and they were doing it with a great deal of enthusiasm.

First they'd rang the doorbell. But since the doorbell was impossible to hear from the outside, they'd likely thought the bell was broken and they had given themselves to knocking. Tyreese had ignored the first round of knocks—those that immediately followed the bell—but he'd gotten up at the second round because it was almost certain that whoever it was had no intention of leaving without some kind of audience with him.

He dressed enough to be considered decent and shuffled through the house. He scrubbed at his eyes and peered through the peephole of the door.

He'd half expected Lizzie on the porch. His ex-wife. She'd be the only person who might disturb him at this hour without some genuine emergency. And if there were an emergency? Most people would seek help from someone certified to help them and not from a contractor.

Standing on Tyreese's porch was a small-framed white woman.

Watching her a moment, Tyreese thought she looked nervous. Or, if not nervous, she definitely looked unsure about whether or not she had the right place. She rocked out, checked the number on the house, and then looked around again.

Just before she raised her hand to start knocking again, Tyreese pulled open the door and resisted the urge to immediately tell her that he wasn't buying any Avon and he was, at least theoretically, on a diet and didn't want Girl Scout cookies.

As soon as he opened the door, though, the confusion on the woman's face spread and she rocked back out to look at the number and check it with one on a piece of paper in her hand before she looked back at Tyreese.

"Michonne?" She asked.

It was unclear as to whether the woman was asking Tyreese if he was Michonne or if she wanted to know where Michonne might be found.

Tyreese cleared his throat.

"I'm Tyreese," he said, hoping that might help her figure out where she was going from there.

"I'm Carol," she responded. She frowned at the piece of paper. "But—I'm looking for Michonne."

Tyreese was almost amused.

"And I'm not her," he said.

Carol made a face at him.

"I can see that," she said. "Do you know where she is?"

Tyreese raised his eyebrows.

"Probably at her house," Tyreese said.

"This isn't her house?" Carol asked.

"Not that anyone told me," Tyreese said.

Carol frowned at the piece of paper again and then looked around, rocking on her feet. An expression came over her face, suddenly, to replace the confusion. It was a kind of desperation. It was the kind of expression that Tyreese hated to see on a woman's face because it could be indicative of a number of things—but one of those was usually tears.

"Who are you looking for?" Tyreese asked with a sigh.

"Michonne," Carol responded.

"I know that," Tyreese said. "I know the name. I don't know why—but I know that I know the name. What information do you have?"

Carol looked back at the piece of paper.

"That she lives at 518 Peachtree Lane," Carol said. "But—obvioiusly she doesn't live at 518 Peachtree Lane. Because—I'm here and you're here, but she's not here."

Tyreese laughed to himself.

"Now I know why I know the name," Tyreese said. "I've met her a couple of times. About this tall? Black woman? Always looks— _pressed_?"

Carol furrowed her brows at him.

"Like the kind of woman who probably irons her underwear?" Tyreese said.

Carol didn't respond in any way.

Tyreese hummed.

"She's a lawyer in town," Tyreese said.

"Yes!" Carol declared. "Yes! She's a lawyer. She's a friend of mine. I mean—she was a friend. I haven't seen her in years. But—I just moved to town. I'm not even fully moved. My stuff is in a storage and my daughter's with another friend—but I was looking for Michonne. She was going to help me. You know? Find a house? I'm going to work for her."

Suddenly something of a damn had broken in the possible Avon Lady in front of Tyreese. It was cute, though. It was somewhat endearing.

"Michonne comes here sometimes," Tyreese said. "She lives at 518 Peachtree Lane. This is 518 Peachtree Court. The city keeps saying they'll change the street names, but they haven't voted on it yet. I've been getting her mail for years, and she's been getting mine. Mostly packages."

"And now you're getting her guests," Carol said.

Tyreese smiled.

"And now I'm getting her guests," Tyreese confirmed.

"Can you tell me where it is?" Carol asked. "Or—how to get there?"

Tyreese shrugged.

"Of course," he said.

"Is it far?" Carol asked, looking concerned.

"Across town," Tyreese said.

"Shit," Carol spat quietly.

"Problem?" Tyreese asked.

Carol sighed.

"I got a flat," Carol said. "I have a flat. My spare's flat. I asked directions at that store? The one with the payphones out front? They told me how to get here. I was—hoping it was Michonne's house and she could help me with the tire issue. But now?"

Tyreese considered it a moment and wet his lips.

"Do you trust me?" He asked.

Carol looked at him funny and he couldn't help but laugh.

"Hey—you don't know me and I don't know you," Tyreese said. "It's a legit question to ask. Do you trust me?"

"Are you going to give me a reason to do otherwise?" Carol asked, a little bit of concern seeping into her features and her voice. Tyreese wished he could erase it. She was a pretty woman—but the concern didn't do her any favors.

He shook his head.

"Listen—I haven't had coffee. I haven't had breakfast," Tyreese said. "But—I can invite you in. I serve a mean cup of coffee and some scrambled eggs and toast that you'll never forget if you're hungry. Then? I'll take you to Michonne's house. That way you can find out if she's there. If she is—great. If she's not? I'll help you get your tire fixed and I'll show you where she works. It's just uptown. It's about—three blocks from the courthouse? You can't miss it if you know where it is, but you'll definitely miss it if you don't."

Carol looked hesitant and Tyreese understood that.

"Hey," he said. "I get it. I'm a strange man and you're a woman on your own—I get it. Just—wait right there, OK? I'll—get some better clothes and find my keys. I'll run you over right now."

He turned to go inside to go in search of the aforementioned items, but just as he was pushing the door closed, meaning to leave the woman on the porch where he'd found her, he felt the door catch and he turned to find she'd stopped it with her hand.

"I trust you," she said. "I do. But—you probably shouldn't underestimate me."

Tyreese smirked at the tone of her voice. He doubted she had, sincerely, but the tone of her voice left it sounding like she might finish up with the piece of information that she'd killed a man before.

"Welcome," he said. "I'm still going to change. But—the kitchen's directly to your left. I'll be in there soon. You can call Michonne if you want. Phone's on the wall. See if she's home? If she is? Let her know we'll be there in an hour at the latest?"

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Carol didn't know what had possessed her to go into Tyreese's house and to join a man that she'd only met by accident for breakfast. It was entirely unlike her.

Maybe that's why she'd done it.

That's what this whole thing about. That's what the move was about. It was two hours from the place that she'd always called home and it was a big change for Carol. She and Sophia were going to start an entirely new life. She'd have a new job. Sophia would go to new schools. They'd have a new last name and live in a new house.

And Carol would be a new person. That's what she'd promised herself. She'd be a new person and a new kind of role model for her daughter. She'd teach her, instead of the lessons that she'd taught so far about remaining quiet and not being noticed, and instead of lessons about being obedient, she'd teach Sophia all about being brave.

The first step to that was finding them a new life, even though everything about it send Carol's heart thundering in her chest with uncertainty.

The second step, oddly enough, seemed to be having breakfast with a man that she didn't know while he entertained her with stories about his young daughter—whom he saw every weekend, without fail—and about his job where he managed a group of men that he described almost as though they were the cast of a regular comedy hour.

It was one of the best breakfasts that Carol could remember—and she hardly even recalled what the food had tasted like.

Tyreese was threatening to her, at least physically. He was a large man. He was practically a brick wall of man. He was nearly twice Ed's size. Carol should have been terrified of him.

But his eyes? His smile? His voice?

Everything about him besides his stature screamed that he was a gentle man. He wasn't threatening—at least not without need. His presence was, actually, quite the opposite. The presence of Tyreese was comforting.

After breakfast, he'd done almost exactly what he'd said he'd do. The only difference was, rather than taking her to Michonne and leaving them to deal with the tire, Tyreese had taken care of the tire first. Then, in a side trip on the way to Michonne's house, he'd taken Carol by a nice little neighborhood where he'd pointed out some houses that he'd helped build—houses that he knew were structurally sound and well-priced for a woman in her situation. Then he'd insisted on driving Carol to Michonne's house—just to make sure she found the woman—and it was there that he'd bid her farewell.

But not before slipping her a piece of paper with his phone number on it.

Michonne seemed to think it was wonderful. She was driving Carol back to pick up her car, and she hadn't missed a beat in cutting straight to the point—skipping over entirely how nice it was to see Carol and how glad she was, as Carol already knew, that she was making such big changes in her life.

"He's single," Michonne said. "Divorced. Clean split, though. Nice as far as divorces go. They have one daughter. Lizzie. Carol, she's precious."

"I'm not even divorced," Carol responded.

"But you will be," Michonne said. "And with me representing you? It shouldn't take too long. What does Ed really have to demand? I've got evidence against him."

"I'm not ready..." Carol started in response.

"Not talking about marriage," Michonne shot back. "You had breakfast with him. That's practically third date quality. You hated it?"

Carol smiled to herself.

"Actually?" She said. "I liked it."

Michonne wasn't trying to hide the fact that she was pleased.

"There's no harm in dating," Michonne said. "Even if—things didn't work out? Have some fun. You deserve that. He'll love Sophia."

"I'm not sure if I'm ready to introduce Sophia to anyone," Carol said.

"Then I'll watch Sophia," Michonne said. "But—I don't think it'd do her any harm. On the weekends? When he's got Lizzie?"

"Why are you pushing this so hard?" Carol asked, suddenly concerned with Michonne's overenthusiasm.

"Because he's a good man," Michonne said. "I've hardly ever heard a bad thing about him. And that—well, that's just about the right kind of man for you right now. Perfect, I'd say."

When they pulled up to where Carol's car was decorating the shoulder of the road, Carol unbuckled her seatbelt and sighed at her friend.

"I'm following you back to your place?" Carol asked.

Michonne nodded.

"And then we're going to look at those houses," Michonne said. "Drop a name?" She teased.

"He might not even be interested, did you think of that?" Carol said.

Michonne smiled broadly.

"I've hardly ever heard a bad thing about him," Michonne said. "The only thing I've ever heard that was negative about him? Was that he can be a little standoffish. A little—distant—with people. He's interested."

Carol was slightly taken aback by that information. She'd have never thought that Tyreese was anything less than super friendly and open to everyone, all the time. He was so warm that she just assumed he must be like that constantly.

And she was a little taken aback to think that a man like him—handsome, strong, kind—might be interested in her. It was almost overwhelming to think about.

"Well," she said, pushing the door open to get out of the car. "Maybe I'm not interested."

Michonne smiled at her.

"I may not see you as often as I'd like," Michonne said. "But I know you well enough to know, Carol Ann, that you're interested. And—lucky for you? I know some of his favorite places in town."

Carol's only response to that was the pretend that she was annoyed with Michonne and close the door, but she had to admit to herself that she was strangely hoping they'd bump into each other again—and she was pretty sure that Michonne would make it happen.


End file.
